Starlust
by MagTwi78
Summary: Stars are made, not born. Know your competition. Win at all costs...and try not to lose yourself in the spotlight.
1. Chapter 1

**starlust**

 **one : cannonball**

Auditions - Chicago

I'm sitting on a chair in a roomful of people. My ass turned numb hours ago from being on the hard plastic for so long, but I've run out of reasons to care. For every reason there is to get up and walk away, there's five more that tell me to _stay_. I've come way too far—literally—to give up and go home now.

All around me there's bustling and bright lights, and the room is teeming with people. For every one person who's here—upbeat, smiling, stars in their eyes—there's their entourage of three-or-so more, murmuring words of encouragement and reminders that _they're the most talented person in the world._

If that's the truth, then this room has more talent than anywhere else, in any era of time.

I don't have an entourage. I'm here alone, but my mom sent me a text about five hours ago wishing me good luck, and telling me she's proud of me no matter what. And my best friend has called a couple times, so I guess my entourage is here with me in spirit.

There's a part of me that kind of wishes I did have somebody here to hold my hand because I've never been so stomach-twistingly anxious in all my life. Ever. But this is something I need to do alone.

A door bursts open, and the other starry-eyed crane their necks to see. A guy comes barging through, his hands clenched in fists held aloft, and he's jumping around like he has springs in his shoes.

"I got in!" he shouts, and his support crew rushes to engulf him. "I'm in!" One of the cameramen who has been hovering around that door all day swoops to aim the lens right at the jubilant boy. Even from here, I can see that he's got a specific camera-smile, and he turns it on, dazzling the lens with the full force of shining white teeth. "I'm through to the Stage Round!"

All around me, the starry-eyed sink back into their chairs, some of them muttering and groaning while their supports pat them on the back and make sympathetic faces. I try not to listen, but I can't help but overhear the conversation of the girl behind me and her family.

"I heard him warming up earlier," she says. "He doesn't even have a good voice."

"Yeah, but look at him," says her friend. "Perfect teeth. Blond hair. Tanned. Muscular arms. That smile." The girl snorts. "He's there for ratings. The girls are going to eat him up. And then they're going to buy all the shit the producers write for him...he's a publicist's dream."

I glance back over to where the guy is giving a dazzling grin to the camera, and the host is fist-bumping him like they're best friends, and I sigh. I guess it makes sense. I heard him earlier, too, and sure, his voice needs some work. He's going to end up with some serious nodules without some real training… not that I've had much in the way of training myself. But even my once a week choir rehearsals back home are enough to tell me that he's probably only ever sung in his bathroom. I stare angrily down at my sneaker-clad feet. _He's probably only here on a dare… and he's in._

The woman with the headset, who's been appearing through the double doors all day with her clipboard, pops out again. She's sounding exhausted, and it's no wonder. More young hopefuls have departed today as trudging failures rather than bouncing success stories. Her ears are probably bleeding by now.

"Jessica Stanley," the clipboard-lady says blandly, looking up from her notes. Behind me, there's a squeal.

"Me! That's me!"

I don't turn around because I already know what she looks like—she was in a group of five with me earlier when we had an initial 30 seconds to prove ourselves… although some didn't even make it that far. Jessica is blonde, boobs, and I hate to admit it, she has a really good voice, although she's prone to a few Christina Aguilera-style vocal acrobatics which could either work for her or make her fall flat.

As the clipboard lady goes to yell her name again, Jessica totters over in too-high heels and too-tight jeans. Her people trail behind, carrying bags, and when I look over my shoulder, I notice they leave their trash all over the place. They strike me as the type of people to expect others to pick up after them.

I sink back into my chair, and lament the fact that my phone has almost died so I can't even listen to music to pass the time. As a last resort, I reach into my bag and pull out a dog-eared book. Maybe Ellis Bell can help me while the hours away.

I don't know much time passes, but my imagination has taken me to the moors of England, and the sound of my name sounds completely foreign. When I look up, I'm surprised to find myself sitting in a now almost empty room.

"What?" I say, my voice echoing.

Clipboard-lady looks past bored—she looks desperate to get home. "Isabella Swan?"

"Yes, that's me," I say, scrambling to my feet. "But you can call me—"

"Whatever." She cuts me off and turns her back, headed for the hallway. "This way."

Stuffing my book back into my bag and rushing after her, I catch the swinging door before it closes, and follow clipboard-lady down the hallway. I mentally curse myself for dropping the ball—there's so much riding on today… and it feels like my only chance. Turning up to some mass audition for a TV show, of all things, is already _way_ out of character for me, but this is it. I'm small-town, and I drove fourteen hours away from that small town so that if I fall on my face, there's only a slim chance of anybody recognizing me and knowing how badly I screwed up. Unless, of course, I screw up so badly I end up in the blooper reel, embarrassing myself in front of my friends, my family, and the whole damn country… not to mention the millions of other viewers online.

No, I had to be here. I _have_ to be here. And I can't screw it up. I won't let myself screw it up.

I sing. This is what I do. It's all I've done my whole life, and I've never wanted to do anything else.

This competition is my big chance.

There's three seats, two of them taken. Clipboard-lady indicates to the vacant one. "Sit there. They'll call for you when they're ready. Leave your bag here when you go in—one of those guys will watch it."

I sit down beside a dark-haired girl. She must barely make the age cutoff because she can't be much older than sixteen.

"They're auditioning us in threes now," says the girl chirpily. I peek at her, and she gives me a big smile in return. Unlike most of the smiles I've seen today, hers actually looks genuine. "I think they all want to get home. Somebody said they underestimated how many would be at Chicago. I guess they figured the others would be bigger… I think we surprised them."

"Yeah," I say, and my voice sounds husky. I cringe—that's not going to be good. I'm still foggy-headed from losing myself in a book all afternoon-slash-evening-slash-however long I've been here, and apparently I've aged thirty years and turned into a smoker. Great.

"Here," says the small girl, holding out a bottle of water. I pause, and she wiggles it. "It's okay," she says. "I took an extra when they were handing them out earlier. I figured it'd come in handy." She grins brightly. "Turns out I was right."

"Just take the water." The occupant of the other chair speaks up. His voice is smooth, with a bit of an edge. It's deep but more like a baritone than a true bass. I lean forward a little to check out its owner. The guy, probably about my age—although I never really was good at guessing ages—is slouching in his chair, one long jeans-clad leg stretched out, the other knee bouncing. A hood is pulled over his head, obscuring most of his face.

I can feel the surprise showing on my face—I didn't expect expect the owner of the voice to look quite so… bad.

"Um, thanks," I say, taking the water. I notice a small, white rabbit tattooed on the inside of the girl's wrist.

I'm feeling completely rattled because even with my lack of Big Deal Audition experience, I know that's a really bad thing.

"I'm Alice from Mississippi," says the girl, and I smile, grateful for small miracles. Her tattoo should make it easy to remember her name.

"Bella," I say, and then I grin. "You're further from home than I am." A thought strikes me. "Although you don't sound..."

"I know, I know." Alice grins impishly. "Took a whole lot of voice training to get rid of that accent." She leans towards me, and her voice slips right into that of a true Southern Belle. "It works though. And I think it makes me more versatile, y'know?"

I can feel the hint of a smile as my lips barely touch the bottle. "Definitely."

"So what's your audition piece?" asks Alice, and before I can answer, "Wait! Don't tell me! I want to be surprised."

Letting my gaze fall to the ground, I try to ignore the ever-present, hovering cameras. I've been trying not to overthink my audition piece. It's a song I've performed for my nearest and dearest time and time again. I'd been tempted to pick something from choir, but Angela had insisted I pick something a little more modern. I smile at the thought of my best friend, especially when I think of how much she'd tease me for losing myself in a book leading up to the biggest audition of my life. And the same book I go to, over and over.

"Wuthering Heights," I find myself saying, hearing the echo of Ange's voice in my head.

"Kate Bush. This should be good," says a voice that most definitely _isn't_ my best friend's. I feel panic sit in my stomach as I look into the face of some kind of stage-manager man. He, too, has a clipboard and speaks into his headset as he peers at my chest. "25943. Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush." He takes a little longer than I'd like to switch his attention to my face, and gives me a smarmy look. "You three. You're up."

"Wait," I say. "I'm not—"

"Oooh," says Alice, her eyes wide and twinkling. " _So_ not what I was expecting."

"Me neither," I mutter in reply as I stand up. As Alice all but skips away, I immediately start to feel lightheaded as a thousand thoughts power through my mind. What have I _done?_ I mean, my range is good, but there's no way I can—

"Unpredictable," says the guy who makes up our trio. Under his hood, I catch deep green eyes. "But I guess it works."

I clear my throat. "Um, yeah." As he follows Alice, I wonder if I see his shoulders shaking just a little, and I think, _it figures_. I'm about to embarrass myself in front of national TV—if they broadcast my audition, that is. And with how hard I'm about to fail, they're _sure_ to broadcast it.

I feel sick.

The others walk into one of the hotel's large meeting rooms. There are bright lights trained on three stools, and, on the other side of the room, a table. The four judges, whom I've seen on TV a hundred times, look different in real life—from here I can see that the female judge seated in the middle is wearing a ton of makeup. Say what you like, though, Rosalie Hale still hits the Most Beautiful People list every year.

The guy to her left is Royce, the show's producer. I've heard that his and Rosalie's relationship is on the rocks. At least, that's what a Google search earlier told me. I try to keep my expression neutral, but something about him makes me want to run a mile. He's leaning back in his chair, lazily tapping a pen on the desk and scanning the room.

On Rosalie's right is the woman I would kill to work with: Esme Platt, star of screen and stage, and one of the best voices in the business. She's got an old Hollywood look to her, and she embodies grace as she sits serenely behind the desk. As one of the many makeup artists bustling around comes close to her, Esme gives her a smile and holds up her hand gracefully. I can guess why—even for her age, Esme doesn't need touching up.

When we're seated on the stools, I find myself in the middle of Alice and the guy. Alice tilts her head down, slightly facing me, and sucks in a breath.

"Oh, my God," she gasps quietly. Her cheeks are pink, and her eyes have opened impossibly wider. "He looks even better in real life."

I follow her gaze. I suppose she's right—Jasper Whitlock _is_ nice to look at. I know Ange has secretly had a crush on him for a really long time… and she may have even begged me ask him for an autograph or a selfie that she promised she'd photoshop me out of later.

Sneaking a glance at the guy beside me, I find him leaning back in his chair. He sits confidently, with no hints to suggest he feels uncomfortable. He looks like he could be waiting for a pizza. But I'm caught as he turns to look at me—really look at me—and the way he stares at me pins me to my seat. His eyes are green— _really_ green—and it feels like he can see beneath the makeup I've retouched all day, beneath the way I've curled my hair, and beneath the fake "cool" I'm trying to exude.

This guy just stripped me bare, and nervousness wraps itself around me, crushing my chest and stealing my breath.

Royce's voice calls out through the room. "Edward? Man, you're up."

Edward— _his name is Edward—_ gives me a confident smirk and drops his hoodie as he stands up before moving fluidly to the taped mark on the floor.

Standing before the judges, he's nothing like the boy in the hall, hidden beneath a hoodie with one leg jiggling. No, this guy is confident without seeming arrogant, relaxed without seeming like he doesn't care. He's completely put together.

"My name's Edward Masen, I'm twenty-one, and I'm from Chicago, Illinois."

"Hello, Edward," says Royce. "What do you do?"

Edward's answer is confident. "I've just finished college, majoring in music composition, and I teach piano to kids and play gigs around Chicago."

I watch from the wing as Edward answers more of Royce's questions, charms Esme, jokes with Jasper, and is professional and totally respectful to Rosalie. He talks to them all like he's their equal, like they don't hold his future in their hands.

But it's next, when he opens his mouth and sings one of my favorite songs, acapella with perfect pitch and perfect tone, that I really I know I'm done for.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks and love to Hadley, TwiSNfan, and thimbles. Thank you to Frozen Soldier for the most beautiful banner ever. Thanks, Nic, for asking me to preview on The Lemonade Stand way back when. Better late than never, right?

Life's super crazy, so updates as I get the chance. Love to hear what you think :)

Mags xx


	2. Chapter 2

**starlust**

 **two : wuthering heights**

Auditions - Chicago

I'm doubting myself.

A voice in my head is dancing around singing, "I told you so!" while this guy, this total stranger, has pulled my heart from my chest and is about to walk off with it… taking whatever shred of talent I had left with him.

Because his voice… his voice is what has me glued to my chair.

I watch him as his voice, which starts off mellow, builds into something that settles beneath my skin and wraps itself around my bones as the song progresses. I have tears pricking my eyes as he runs into a falsetto before diving back into a throaty growl. He shifts his weight as his voice soars, and I hold my breath as the room fills with the sound of his vocals. Although he's performing, there's no over-the-top drama, no faked fist-pumping—he's just a man, using his body as a vessel for his amazing instrument. And on top of all this, there's something so completely, utterly, undeniably sexy, he has every person in the room completely fixated on him… me included.

Despite the pressure of the situation, I let myself soak it up and be carried away by his performance. But as he launches into the final chorus, there's a tick, tick, ticking in my brain that reminds me of where I am. I can't let myself be awestruck by his performance—I have my own ahead. There's way too much riding on this moment and on what's to come, providing I survive my sixty seconds of opportunity.

Edward is my competition. He's what is standing between me and what I think must be one of the last available spots on the show. After his performance, my confidence is shot, and I want to run from the room… But something primal in me also wants to run toward him, wrap my legs around him, and never let go.

He finishes, and the room is silent for a beat before the applause starts, and my own traitor hands join in.

He opens his eyes, and for a second, he almost looks shocked to be where he is. The judges are standing, giving him an ovation that's definitely going to make the cut of the audition rounds on TV. Royce's chest is puffed up like he's just found his meal ticket for the next two years… and he probably has.

I want to throw up. There's no way I can follow that.

"Holy hell," murmurs Alice beside me. "I hope I'm not next."

"Excellent song choice," says Royce, and I have to agree, despite myself. "Your voice, your look, although I have to say…" He pats his own well-styled hair. "Not your natural color?"

Everybody chuckles, and Edward's eyes drop, his hand coming up to run through his obviously dyed black hair. "No," he says, with almost-bashfulness. "It's just a… thing."

Royce lifts his hands, showing his palms. "Hey, it works!" he says. "Man, does it work. You're like this enigma. The t-shirt, the jeans… you haven't exactly dressed up for today." Royce, however, clearly has. He continues. "But that voice?" He kisses his fingers. "Perfection. If you keep singing like that with the other stuff we throw at you?" He shakes his head in a picture of absolute seriousness. "Gold, man. Pure gold."

My leg is bouncing on the stool as I listen to Jasper ask if Edward plays an instrument. Of course he does: piano, guitar, and he tried the violin when he was a kid, but it wasn't for him, so he gave it away.

I play the piano, but I'm a hack.

By the end of Edward's post-performance interview with the judges, we've all established that Rosalie would love to have him on her team, and Esme basically wants to adopt him.

Royce pulls the attention back to himself. "And now for our decision." He pauses for dramatic effect, and I wonder if, when they cut it for TV, they'll extend it. He smiles broadly, showing pearly-white, straight teeth. "It's a definite 'yes' from me."

Rosalie smiles, and it looks genuine. "It's a 'yes' from me."

"Absolutely. Yes," Esme says simply.

I see Edward grin, and Jasper stands up, banging his hand on the table. "You're in! Way to go!"

Edward clenches his fist by his side, and there's a bounce in his step. "Thanks, guys," he says sounding modest and absolutely adorable. Everybody applauds as he heads for the door, but just before he exits, he turns and our eyes lock. I sit here on my stool, watching him, with him watching me. I have no idea what he's thinking, but my skin tingles, and I can't look away. And then… he walks out.

If I wasn't reeling before, I am now. Edward's performance has completely spooked me, and the way he looked at me just now? My panic rises further as I think about what is now going to be my audition piece. I'm sweating bullets, and I'm ready for this to be over.

"Next up, Alice Brandon."

Alice squeezes my arm. "Shit," she whispers, and then louder, "Good luck, Isabella. You'll be great."

I smile weakly. "You too, Alice."

She winks, and then she makes her way to the marker with a bounce in her step. "Hi!" she chirps. "My name's Alice Brandon. I'm eighteen, and I'm from Biloxi, Mississippi."

I watch her interact with the judges, and she's just the same with them as she has been with me—happy, energetic, and radiating excitement. By the time they tell her to start, they've been thoroughly charmed.

I expect Alice's voice to be something like a soprano, and I figure that she's probably better suited to do my song than I am. But the song she starts with and her tone are far from what I'm expecting, and I can't help myself—I crack up.

She dances on the spot, hands on her hips, swaying like she's one of the Andrews sisters from the movies my gran loved, and she's singing lyrics that I'm wondering if they'll need to censor. But what I least expected is that her voice is clear, and it's… country.

The judges are thoroughly amused, and I'm pretty sure Jasper Whitlock is completely besotted with her by the time she runs from the room, with four "yes" votes in tow.

And then, there was one.

"Isabella Swan."

It takes me a minute, but I scramble off my stool with none of the grace of Edward or Alice before me. I feel like my feet are tripping over each other as I make my way to the marker, and then I'm standing where I've long wanted to be but never thought I'd make it.

The lights are much brighter here, and I resist the urge to shade my eyes. The judges look imposing behind their desk, even Esme, whom I've always thought seemed so much kinder than the others. They smile at me in an attempt, I think, to try and make me feel at ease… but I want to throw up in the nearest trash can.

"Welcome. What's your name?" asks Rosalie, for the benefit of the camera. She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"H-hi," I respond croakily. "My name is Isabella Swan. I'm nineteen, and I'm from Stanley, North Dakota."

"And what do you do with yourself, Isabella?" asks Jasper, cocking his head a little to the side.

I feel a stone rattling around in my stomach along with the butterflies. "I'm a student at Minot State University."

"It says here you're singing Wuthering Heights for us today," says Royce, eyeballing me. It almost sounds like a dare. He's the most intimidating of them all.

"Um," I say, my confidence shot. I consider, briefly, asking if I can do the original piece I'd chosen. The one I've been rehearsing for the last month, but instead I say, "Yes. That's right."

Jasper lets out breath, his eyebrows raised. "Tricky. Well, let's hear it then, darlin'." He leans back in his chair, waiting.

I clear my throat and close my eyes. I know the words—my mom used to play this song over, and over and over in the car when I was a kid. She wailed along with Kate Bush, lacking tone, timing, or tune. I squeeze my eyes shut as I remember that Mom always sang the words wrong, and I send a silent prayer to the universe I don't make the same mistake.

Opening my lips, I test a note. It's too high—if I start there, I have nowhere to go. My voice will split before I reach the chorus. "I'm sorry," I say, my eyes flickering open. "Can I start again?"

"Sure," says Esme, speaking over whatever Royce was about to say. "Take your time. Are you nervous, dear?"

I nod, biting my lip.

She smiles and speaks gently. "Imagine it's just us here. You and me. Just do your thing."

I nod again, forcing a smile to my lips. She has no idea singing for her is one of the things I'm most nervous about, but somehow her words calm me. I decide in that instance to strip it right back. To pitch it where I'm comfortable—where I know I sound my best. And when I close my eyes and begin again, it feels perfectly natural; I know this is exactly where I am supposed to be, right in this moment.

I keep the first verse restrained, letting myself feel the melody, and I transition into the chorus, giving it a bit extra but maintaining control. I'm not sure when I opened my eyes, but I lock my gaze on each of them, not allowing myself to read into their expressions, but staying right here in the music. When nobody stops me, I fall into the bridge, weaving my way through it and setting up for a final chorus. I pour everything I have—everything—into those last lyrics… into my last chance, and I let the last note hang in the air.

When I come down from whatever alternate plane I've been on these past minutes, I feel the ground beneath my feet, and I look across at the judges. It takes me a moment to realise that they're not moving—they're not making a sound.

My stomach lurches. Maybe my feeling was wrong… maybe I blew it.

Right before I'm about to run from the room, Esme speaks as she exhales. "Wow."

Jasper whistles, low and long. "Damn, girl."

I stand there, rooted the ground. "Was… um… was that okay?" I can't help but ask. I came here to be judged… I want them to judge me.

"Yes." Rosalie's voice rings out. "Yes, that was definitely okay." She gives me an odd look, and it makes me feel uncomfortable, despite her words.

"Okay," Royce echoes. He leans forward, glancing at the others. "What do you say?"

"Yes," answers Esme without hesitation. She smiles at me, and she looks almost proud.

"Yeah," drawls Jasper. "I wanna see you up on that stage."

Rosalie pauses before she answers. "I'm afraid I'm going have to say no."

Esme shifts in her seat. "No? Did you watch the same performance I did?"

Rosalie pins me with something that seems more like a glare than anything else. "You have an excellent voice, Isabella, but you lack stage presence. And frankly… you're a little plain. Maybe get some more performance practice and a haircut… and then come back next year. It's a 'no' from me."

My stomach drops, and there it is, the word I did _not_ want to hear—no. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.

Royce leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his hands. "Well," he says, cocking his head to the side. "You have two 'yes' votes, and one 'no.' You need three clear 'yesses' to progress."

I nod because I've seen previous seasons. I know how this works. My chances ride on what he says next… and he's the toughest judge of all.

He nods firmly. "You took a risky move. That song, doing it _that_ way?" He continues to stare at me, and I fold my hands in front of me, feeling exposed. "It takes someone either really brave, or really foolish to do what you did. Well…" He draws the word out out, and I can feel my heart pounding. I hold my breath. "I'm willing to take a chance. You're through."

The air rushes from my lips, and I feel lightheaded. "Thank you so much." I head for the exit before they can change their mind. "Thank you."

I hurry for the door, pushing my way through and out into the corridor. I'm trembling and blinking away tears, and I'm a mess. When I get to the other end, I know there's nobody there waiting for me, so I'm surprised to see a small crowd assembled as I burst through into the lobby, further down from the door I went in.

Alice rushes toward me, away from somebody who looks exactly like her. A sister, I think errantly. "You did it! I knew you would! That was… oh my gosh! That was absolutely amazing!"

"You saw?" I ask, surprised.

"Monitors," she says, pointing, and I wonder how I missed the TV screens earlier. "That version! Oh, my gosh! It was perfect! You can tell you've been rehearsing. It really paid off… so polished." She grips my hands and leans in. "Never mind what Rosalie Hale says. She slept her way to the top anyway. But hey!" She giggles, and I can sense her excitement. I let myself feel it— I let myself be swept away by the adrenaline and the relief of having _actually done it._

"Next round!" I find myself saying, and I can hear the elation and the surprise in my own voice.

"Next round!" She squeals as she hugs me tightly.

When she releases me, she gives me one last bright smile, and she runs off to join her family. They surround her, and together, they all walk to collect bags and belongings.

As I watch Alice leave, I sense somebody watching me. I glance around, my eyes scanning the excited crowd of successful contestants and their people until I see another person without an entourage. He's standing off to the side, hanging back, and he's watching me.

I stare back at Edward, and at my side, I lift my fingers just a little in some kind of lame wave. He doesn't notice, or if he does, he doesn't let on. His gaze burns the length of my body, and I feel stripped naked as it lingers. I don't know any boys like him back home, and the way he watches me makes me feel I'm being really noticed for the first time in my nineteen years.

A voice calls my name—my full name— and I look around, thoroughly overwhelmed, to where one of the main clipboard people from earlier is beckoning.

"Come here, Isabella!" The producer looks harried, but she's talking like she's motivating a group of people. Except it's not a group—it's just me. "Look right down the camera, and give us the tagline!" she says, and she moves to take her spot behind the cameraman. There's a red light on the top of the camera, and a brighter spotlight being held above—I can feel its heat from where I'm standing. Turning face on, I blink a few times before staring right down the lens into the darkness and mustering up as much confidence and courage as I can manage.

"My name's Isabella," I say firmly. "And this is ' _Searching for Stardust._ '"

* * *

A/N: Forever grateful to Hadley, TwiSNfan, and thimbles for pep-talks and word advice. Sincerest thanks to everybody who read and reviewed chapter one...I truly appreciate your patience :)

 _Song inspiration_

Edward's audition: Cannonball - Damien Rice

Bella's audition: Wuthering Heights (inspired by cover by Claire Joseph) - youtube dot com /watch?v=kjAHORRS_HA

Alice's audition: Follow your Arrow - Kacey Musgraves youtube dot com /watch?v=R9z1vVUdoxE


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